


Reckoning

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04 Spoilers, Angst, Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M, Ficlet, Humor, I don't even go here what am I doing, Not much in the way of plot, in which Brienne is all of us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 21:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18881587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: “This isn’t about what you deserve,” she hissed. “It’s about what I want.”Brienne confronts Jaime, post s8e04.





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another season 8 fixit. I have no business writing fic for this, I've only ever watched the Brienne related scenes of this show, and only read the first book, but here we are. So bear with me, this is pure rage-induced self-indulgence. I just had to write it for my own satisfaction. They did her so dirty.

Brienne crouched in the courtyard, flakes of snow settling in her hair. She wiped her face with numb hands. The air was turning blue as dawn approached; she could hear the sounds of servants moving about as they began their daily labour. She staggered to her feet and made her way through the dark halls of Winterfell back to her quarters.

She closed the door to their – to her – room, and sunk to the floor. She had never known such unfathomable pain. Broken bones, bruised ribs, clawed by a bear, none of it as painful as the jagged and torn hollow where her heart had been. She gritted her teeth against the voices filling her head: _Brienne the Beauty. The Kingslayer’s whore. Ugly beast._ She scrubbed her face and got to her feet. Enough. She had to dress. There was work to do. There would be gossip, and pitying looks, and she would be damned if she’d hide. Podrick would be seeking her out soon if she didn’t show her face. She was good at holding up her head and enduring.

She dressed quickly, keeping her eyes turned from the sight of the tousled bed. She would confront that later, after a sufficient amount of wine. Brienne kept her quarters as neat and spare as any proper soldier did. So the torn scrap of parchment lying on the table fairly glowed in the dim firelight, out of place, unusual. She picked it up with trembling hands. She read the words in the shaky scrawl of a man who had learned to write with his weak hand:

_Gone South. I must put an end to it._

_Be well. Forgive me._

_J_

Brienne crushed the note in her fist. She must speak to Lady Sansa at her earliest opportunity.

 

*****

 

Jaime worked at the stiff leather straps as he unsaddled his horse. A small fire smoldered in the shelter of a rocky overhang. He swore in frustration; night fell too quickly now. The road from Winterfell was choked with mud and ice; he had made slower progress thus far than he would like. As soon as it was light enough to ride he would have to make up time.

He fucking hated the North.

He paused in his efforts, raising his head to listen at the imperceptible sound of something moving through the frozen grass. An animal? Or an assassin…

He yelped as a cold, wet lump of frozen mud hit him square on the back of the head. He whirled, drawing his dagger. “Who—“ he started, but was cut off as another clod of turf hit him in the face.

“BASTARD!”

Jaime wiped his eyes and spit dirt. He sheathed his dagger. “Bri-“ another mouthful of flying ice silenced him, as Brienne stormed toward him out of the shadows.

“YOU SHIT-STINKING ARSE-LICKING SON OF A WHORE!”

Jaime immediately regretted sheathing his dagger. He raised his arms in surrender. “Listen –“

She shoved him, hard. “ARSEHOLE!”

He stumbled back. His horse whickered and shied away from the angry, loud knight. “Please –“

“Don’t you FUCKING DARE!” Brienne shouted, shoving him again till he fell, sprawled out on the ground. She pinned him down.

“Yield! I yield, wench!” Jaime gasped.

“It’s _Ser_ to you, Kingslayer,” she growled. He winced. She straddled him, one hand at his throat, the cold point of her dagger under his chin. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you here and now.”

“I love you.”

She slapped him, hard enough it was nearly a punch. “Fuck. You.”

“If it please you, my lady.” He never could hold his tongue, no matter how grave the circumstances.  She narrowed her eyes and the point of the knife pressed harder against his skin. He raised an eyebrow. “You’d kill me without a decent fight first? How unsatisfying.”

She snorted, but leaned back. “There’s no glory in killing the stupidest Lannister,” she grumbled, climbing off him.  She stood, and walked back to her mount. She guided the animal to Jaime’s horse and tethered her. Jaime lay still on the ground, watching her as she moved towards the fire and sat. She started to undo the straps of her breastplate.

He climbed carefully to his feet. “You followed me.”

She glared at him across the fire. “Did you think I wouldn’t guess your strategy? Do you take me for an idiot?”

Her words brought to mind the memory of their journey together, so long ago. The fierce warrior maiden that had scowled and fought him. He was nearly overcome by the impulse to laugh and weep at once. “You’re not coming with me.”

“I think I’ve made it clear that your opinion has no weight with me.”

“Cersei will never stop until we are both dead. I will not let her harm you.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“You swore an oath to Lady Sansa –“

“Don’t tell me my duty,” Brienne snapped. “Lady Sansa gave me leave to ride South. Cersei is her enemy. Helping you to finish her is in keeping with my vow.”

She finished stacking her armor by her feet, and rolled her neck and shoulders wearily. Jaime sat by her, mindful of her knife, still strapped to her hip. He sighed, ran his hand over his face and through his hair. “This isn’t your fight,” he said quietly.

“You humiliated me,” she whispered. “How could you?”

He had thought he had exhausted his store of self-loathing, but found there were yet more depths to discover. “I told you I was a hateful man.”

They sat in silence. The night was thick around them now. Brienne’s face in the firelight was withdrawn, stern. So changed from the smiles and sighs he had revelled in of late. “I found your note,” she murmured.

He took a breath, then. “These few weeks with you…have been the only true happiness I have ever known. I don’t deserve your loyalty, Brienne. I don’t deserve to be happy with you.”

“This isn’t about what you deserve,” she hissed. “It’s about what I want.”

“What do you want? Do you want to die?" His voice was urgent, harsh. "Because that’s what’s going to happen."

She reached out, drew his face to her and kissed him hard, angrily. “I want you by my side," she said. "If I’m to die, I want to die fighting for the ones I love. Not cold and alone, waiting for the inevitable.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. Even now, a part of him wanted to rage and shout at her, push her away with steel if need be. “I could have died happy, knowing you were safe.” His voice was thick with too many unshed tears.

Her thumb stroked softly at the nape of his neck. “Then you’ll have to learn to live with disappointment, because I insist on your survival.”

A wry smile twitched at his lips. “If it please you, my lady.”


End file.
